


An Amateur Romance, Op. 29

by thecumberbinch



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys In Love, Credence grew out his hair, M/M, credence plays the harp ok, lots of cuteness yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:05:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecumberbinch/pseuds/thecumberbinch
Summary: Newt is enchanted by the music down the hall. It wouldn't hurt to get to know someone, right?





	An Amateur Romance, Op. 29

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolute fluffy trash and i'm sorry. My tumblr is @doctor--shitpost. Come and yell at me about Credence. or Newt. or Crewt. Or all of the above. Enjoy.

Newt Scamander, Zoology major in his second year of university becomes rather obsessed with the harp music he hears coming from down the hall. 

It was an accident, really; he'd been rushing out of his dorm, late to class as usual, but just as he made his way to the stairs he heard a soft piece, Celtic in origin, he believed, drift through the corridor. He found himself tapping his pen in class and humming the melody over and over. 

He sits up at abhorrent hours of the night, just hoping, waiting, for that soft melody to lull him to sleep. 

He begins to wonder what they're like, this mystery musician. Do they prefer coffee or tea? Paper books or kindle? Sweet or salty? What's their favorite color? 

Eventually he musters up the courage to follow those quiet notes all the way to the door and give it a knock. 

All of Newt's previous deductions about the harpist immediately turn into misconceptions as a tall, doe-eyed man answers the door, with his dark hair pulled into a messy bun, his lips pink and shining from habitual licking-

Why was Newt looking at his lips? 

He shook himself out of his reverie just as the man asks him if he'd like some coffee.

He politely declines; the first time he came to America, he tried a cup and almost spit it all over the sidewalk. 

Newt realizes he just told the story out loud, much to his horror. 

Then he realizes the man is laughing; he looks up at Newt's vaguely confused face and-  
Smiles.  
At him. 

Newt Scamander, the British exchange student that's a bit odd, just enough to put people off; Newt Scamander, who after two years hasn't made a single friend here because he annoys people. 

Newt bloody Scamander, the boy who says too much just made this man who he's barely known for five minutes laugh. 

And it's magical. 

He smiles back and asks his name while formally introducing himself. 

Credence.  
His name is Credence. 

Newt's never met anyone with the name Credence, but it sounds nice on his tongue. 

He soon realizes he's blushing horribly, and so is Credence, sitting across from him, clutching a much-needed mug of coffee judging by the dark circles smudged under his eyes like the light remains of washed-off makeup. 

He asks the man what he was playing, and instead of telling Newt, he shows him. 

It's beautiful, watching Credence's hands slide across the strings, and patterned sock-clad feet adjust the pedals. 

Curiosity overtakes him, and Newt can't help but ask about how the harp works and how to play it, and oh, what do those pedals do, by the way? 

Instead of rolling his eyes, Credence answers every one of Newt's questions, then asks if Newt would like to try playing it. 

Newt stutters; what if he breaks it? What if he turns it the wrong way and drops it? What if he pops a string? 

Credence smiles at him, and Newt is thankful he's sitting down because that smile makes him weak in the knees and his stomach twist and drop. 

Before he even realizes what he's doing, he's sitting in the stool, harp in front of him, and Credence takes his hands into his own and gently guides Newt's fingers over the strings. 

Credence is leaning over him, his warmth coming off in waves that cut right through Newt's sweater and directly into his skin. A tendril of Credence's hair has escaped the erratic bun on top of his head and is lightly brushing the shell on Newt's ear; a phantom touch just enough to give him chills. 

Newt wishes he could run time over itself so that he could stay in this moment forever. 

After Newt's little make-shift "lesson", Credence moves back to leave Newt some room to get up. 

Credence smiles at him again, and Newt leans up against the harp in order to avoid falling flat onto his face when his legs turn to jelly. 

Credence tells Newt that he's never had any friends here, or anywhere really, and then he mutters something about really enjoying his company that Newt doesn't quite catch, since his mind is racing at the idea that he could make or break this fragile beginning in the next couple seconds. 

Fuck it, he thinks. 

Newt takes a couple strides forward and takes Credence's hand in his own, then slides his other hand up the back of Credence's neck and weaves his fingers into his dark hair; he feels a small tremor go through Credence as he does so. He takes a quick look at Credence's face before leaning in and taking his lips in his own. 

And, oh, it was exquisite. 

Newt could taste the rich roughness of Credence's coffee, now cold and forgotten in his mug, the hint of something sharp, and a bit minty; toothpaste, perhaps, the spicy remains of the microwave curry that was now discarded in the waste bin by the door. With every moment, Newt figured something else about Credence. 

He could get used to this. 

Credence has begun to respond to Newt's ministrations, leaning into his touch as he tangled his fingers into his inky waves. He stepped in closer, resting a hand on the small of Newt's back. 

Newt pulled away for air, and took a moment to look at Credence's face, perfectly illuminated by the dying afternoon sun from the dorm's single window. He never realized he said it, but Newt mutters about the fact the Credence is absolutely beautiful, and the flustered look that crossed his face, as if no one had ever told him how wonderful he really looked, was something Newt would never really forget. 

A cup of tea (much more to Newt's liking), a couple kisses and a sonata later, the sun had set and Credence had ordered take away. Newt had brought over a couple things of his own (finding out Credence didn't have a roommate was a wonderful surprise indeed), they had settled into bed together, wrapping blankets around each other's shoulders and stealing various ingredients from each other's lo mein as Credence's laptop played an old '80s rom-com. 

Newt woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed with an impatient boyfriend that was half-asleep and demanding cuddles. He glanced over at Credence's harp, that damned thing, and he knew that if it were a person of some sort, it would have winked. 

Newt used to agree with most when they said he violin was the most romantic instrument. 

Now, he begs to differ.


End file.
